


Playing Those Mind Games Together

by OzQueen



Category: Cold Case
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Bondage, Co-workers, F/M, Fingerfucking, Handcuffs, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty Valens has never been one to back down from a challenge - even when Lilly's unaware she's extended one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Those Mind Games Together

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Mind Games" by John Lennon.  
> Total smut, no plot. Fictional sex can mean sex without consequences; I'm not trying to promote the idea that everyone goes out and fucks without protection. ;-)

Scotty Valens has marks on his wrists.

Lilly has seen them twice now. The first time she simply dismisses it as a trick of the light. Tells herself it was the shadow of his shirt cuff or the mark of something as simple as a rubber band he’d looped around his wrist after scrolling it from a roll of papers.

But no. She’s seen the marks twice now. One on each wrist. Bruised and tender and she knows exactly what they’re from because it’s something every cop sees and identifies and is occasionally responsible for.

They are marks from pulling against handcuffs.

He looks up and catches her watching him. “What?”

She just shakes her head in response.

 

xXx

 

The witness has been shown out, but Lilly and Scotty are still in the box. It’s quiet and dark and she finds herself trying to spot the marks on his wrists again as he signs off on his notes.

“Handcuffs,” he says quietly.

“What?” She looks up at him in alarm and sees that he’s watching her.

Flustered, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He grins. “Don’t tell me you’ve never,” he says. “Handcuffs, right? Never met a cop that hasn’t taken ‘em home.”

“I haven’t,” she denies hotly. She gets to her feet, intent on walking back into the wide open office with its bright fluorescents. He follows her.

“You don’t like it?” he asks.

She looks up at him in alarm. She doesn’t want to talk about this with him. This is embarrassing and personal. This isn’t part of her relationship with him. Straight-forward and professional and clean-cut. That’s what she wants with Scotty Valens.

He watches her closely and shrugs. “It’s okay to not like it, Lil.”

“I don’t know if I do or not,” she insists. “It’s never occurred to me.”

He grins and shakes his head and she’s annoyed that he doesn’t believe her.

He leans close to her, invading her space with his body and his heat and that husky cologne scent that clings to him. He whispers softly in her ear and lets his breath tickle against her skin.

“It’s all about trust.”

 

xXx

 

It’s late, and quiet and raining. The air smells like ice and wet leaves and Lilly keeps her head bowed as she runs from the cab to her door.

She flicks lights on as she moves through to the kitchen, setting the kettle on to boil and stepping over the cats as they wind around her ankles. She tips cat food into dishes and fills a deep saucer with milk, setting it on the floor just as the kettle starts to steam and whistle.

She moves back into the living room, kicking her shoes off with a sigh, her slender fingers wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea. She sits her gun and cuffs on the lamp table, glancing at them for a moment before forcing herself to focus on the late-night news.

She’s dozing with her head pillowed on her arm when there’s a sharp knock at the door. She jumps, startled, and instantly reaches for her gun before realising she probably has no need for it. However, it’s late, and she’s not expecting anyone, so her heart races as she edges towards the door and peers through the window into the dark street.

Scotty Valens stands on her front stoop, looking impatient as water mizzles down on him. She breathes a soft sigh and lets him in.

“Hey,” she says, scrubbing at her face and hoping she hasn’t left sleep-marks on her skin.

He grins and steps past her into the warmth and light. “Hey.”

She leans against the closed door. “So, what brings you around here so late?”

“Late? It’s just after nine o’clock, Lil,” he says, leaning himself against the back of her sofa and looking at her. There is something about him that oozes lazy confidence and masculinity. He is so sure of himself she can’t help but stare at him in fascination, and the memory of his closeness in the box that afternoon races up her spine.

He still hasn’t told her why he’s there, so she waits patiently, and he finally raises his eyes to hers.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he said.

“Are you okay?” She frowns, and for a moment she racks her brain, trying to figure out what it is about their current case that might be causing him to feel so unsettled.

He just grins and saunters over to her and for a moment she wants to laugh and berate him for the actual swagger in his walk and the cocky look on his face. But then he’s close to her again, and she’s pressed against the front door and he’s still close enough to have his breath warm and gentle on her face.

“You thought about it, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She blinked nervously. “Thought about what?”

He raises his hand and his handcuffs dangle from one finger, glinting in the soft light of her living room.

“Oh,” she stammers. She feels panicked and nervous. She wonders if he thinks she wants to sleep with him. She doesn’t. She’s never thought about him like that, ever. He’s young and good looking and confident, but he’s _Scotty_. He’s her partner and she knows exactly what sort of shit will happen if they sleep together.

But he’s intoxicatingly close. Heat seems to radiate from him and he smells like rain and warm cologne.

“Scotty, don’t,” she whispers. Her heart hammers in her chest and she knows she’s not speaking convincingly enough. She needs to be firm, and hard. Detective Rush. Detective Rush says _stop this now._

“Trust me?” he asks. Challenging her slightly.

She nods, careful not to look up at him. He’s close enough to kiss her. She can feel sweat prickling on her skin.

She hears the familiar ratchet of handcuffs and he takes her hand. The metal is already warm from being in his hand, and he tightens it around her wrist, cinching it so it touches her skin lightly. Tight enough so she feels it but not so tight it’s painful.

She swallows. “Scotty...”

He takes her other hand and cuffs her other wrist, and her hands are linked in front of her. His finger holds the chain, keeping a firm grip so the metal bites lightly against her skin, her wrists held up in front of her waist.

“It’s easy,” he promises softly. “Just trust me.”

She finally looks upwards and looks eyes with him. She’s so nervous she can feel her fingers trembling against one another, and she clenches her hands. She wants to tell him to unlock the cuffs and go home. To step away and to forget whatever the hell it is he’s thinking. But her throat has closed up and all she can do is swallow nervously.

He keeps the pressure on her wrists by pulling the handcuffs forwards slightly, and he moves his other hand to her face, running his fingers along her jaw and cupping her cheek.

Her breath is uneven and fluttery. His movements are deliberate and steady and his breath is warm and deep against her skin as he takes her chin gently in his hand and forces her to look up at him again.

“You can’t say you never thought of this,” he whispers, his eyes direct and bright with his confidence.

_But I haven’t,_ she thinks helplessly. _I force myself not to. It’s a bad idea._

She can’t speak aloud. She’s not sure what it is, specifically, that’s locking her voice away. His closeness, her hammering heart, or the handcuffs. She wonders if she’s feeling a natural submission, being restrained like this. She doesn’t _want_ to be submissive. She wants to take control and order him to release her and go home. He’s already crossed too many lines.

He kisses her. His mouth is warm and soft and she inhales slowly, dizzy with nerves and lack of oxygen.

He pulls away slightly, sucking her bottom lip so they separate with a soft click.

Her eyes are closed and she draws in a shaky breath before he comes back again, tugging her secured wrists towards him so they tuck against his stomach, the damp fibres of his coat against her skin. He kisses her harder this time, sliding his tongue into her mouth and pressing her back against her front door. She can feel the chill of the cold outside, seeping through the wood, and it contrasts sharply with the hot strength of his body.

There are thrills racing along her nerves and her nipples tighten with each quiver he sends across her skin whenever he touches her. He slides his fingers slowly down her throat and cups the back of her neck, holding her against him as he moves his tongue carefully inside her mouth.

When he pulls away this time, she finds herself following, her knees bending slightly as though the effort of standing is suddenly too much.

He lets go of the handcuffs and wraps his arm around her waist, tilting her head back by winding his fingers into her hair, and he kisses her again, pressing her hard against the door. He grazes his teeth against her lower lip and she physically shivers. Her face grows warm with embarrassment and he pulls away slowly, grinning.

She feels as though she needs to keep up insistence that this is not a good idea. “We shouldn’t,” she whispers. “Things will get too complicated.”

“Right,” he says, raising his eyebrow. “Because things couldn’t possibly have been complicated with Kite. Or Saccardo? Or any other guy?”

“This is different,” she insists, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless or desperate.

He lifts her hands and loops them around his neck, and he bends and kisses her again, roughly, his hands against her hips, pulling her to him. She finds herself pushing fingers into his hair. He grooms it so carefully and she finds another new thrill in disturbing it, rumpling it and letting her fingers slide through it.

She lifts her wrists as though to unhook herself, but the kiss isn’t broken and she has no way to separate her hands, so they fall back to the nape of his neck again, her fingers curling against his collar.

He pulls her around, lifting her and setting her down again and walking her to her bedroom, his mouth against the pulse in her neck, sucking and licking against her skin. She can hear her breath, panting softly into the air as he pushes her bedroom door open and backs her against the foot of the bed.

When he falls with her onto the bed, his teeth graze against the curve of her neck and she squirms beneath him. She’s starting to feel the handcuffs more than ever – faint red marks have appeared on her skin as a result of her tugging and resistance and she bites her lip.

“Scotty,” she breathes desperately.

He doesn’t give her time to voice her thoughts. “Trust me, Lil.” He kisses her again and settles his hips between her thighs, forcing her to spread beneath him, softening to his body. He reaches back and grabs her hand, stretching her arms up and over her head, pinning her to the mattress. He slides one hand down her side, brushing the soft swell of her breast with his palm, and pulls her shirt out, untucking it and slipping his hand beneath it so he can touch her skin.

She draws in a soft gasp and he moves his mouth down her throat, kissing her pulse and nipping her lightly, flicking his tongue against her. She jerks and shivers and the handcuffs rattle gently.

He props himself alongside her and works one hand down her shirt buttons, plucking them gently apart. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she keeps them over her head. Her chest rises and falls rapidly.

He looks up at her and his eyes are dark and soft. She can almost hear his thoughts. If she wants him to stop, she can say so. She can stop this.

But she doesn’t.

She is helplessly passive as he shifts the broken seams of her shirt apart, baring her stomach and her basic bra. She silently curses herself for not putting on something lacy, but then she remembers what’s happening and berates herself for considering the necessity of impressing him. This is Scotty. This shouldn’t happening.

Again, she tells herself to tell him to stop. He will – she knows he will. He’ll unlock the handcuffs and tell her it’s okay and he’s sorry, and he’ll leave, and tomorrow he’ll buy her a coffee as a peace offering and they’ll both simply ignore it ever happened until it gets better again.

But she doesn’t tell him to stop. She closes her eyes and her fingers twist into her sheets so she can forget for a moment that there are handcuffs around her wrists. She shivers when he glides his hand over her stomach, running over her waist and up to the cup of her bra. It’s lightly padded but she can still feel every touch of his fingers, like electric against her skin.

He unsnaps it at the front and it springs open, forced apart by the fact her arms are up over her head and her chest expands deeply every time she breathes.

He touches his finger against her nipple and she squirms and fidgets, aching for him to do something harder; firmer. He flicks it with his thumb and she flinches and squeezes her eyes closed, too self-conscious and desperate to risk eye contact with him.

His mouth presses lightly against her stomach. He kisses his way across her ribs and up to the bottom curve of her breast. He breathes slowly against her skin and she squirms again, lowering her linked hands with the intention of guiding his mouth to her nipple, but he grabs the chain linking the handcuffs and forces her hands back to the mattress. He kisses the scar above her right breast and moves his tongue downwards, flicking it over her nipple and leaving a wet trail on her body. He blows across it gently and she arches her back.

His mouth closes over her nipple and he sucks gently, flicking her with his tongue. She jerks and twists beneath him and her breath is ragged and deep.

He trails his tongue down her stomach, nipping and sucking at her skin so she jolts and stiffens at every touch.

She finds her voice when he pulls her belt off. “Scotty,” she pants. She shakes her head. “Tomorrow...”

She lowers her arms in a move to cover her chest, and he ducks below her linked wrists and kisses her again, firm and deep. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat and her body softens again.

“Forget tomorrow,” he whispers, grazing the tip of his nose over her cheek and grabbing her earlobe between his lips. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll let you go and I’ll leave.”

“I just...” She moves her head to the side, exposing her neck, and he runs his tongue down her pulse. She shudders. “Why?” she breathes.

_Why do you need to test me? Why do I have to breach comfort? So I said it wasn’t my thing. So I said I’d never done handcuffs before. Why do I have to experience it now? Why is it so important? _

“Don’t ask questions,” he hisses in her ear. The sensation of his breath and the tone of his voice causes her body to arc beneath him again. She shivers.

He runs his fingers down the sides of her body, pressing into her flesh. When she shifts restlessly beneath him she can feel the hard heat of him pressing between her thighs. She moves her hands to the back of his neck again, curling her fingers into his hair and guiding his mouth back to her breast. He grazes his teeth against her nipple and she whimpers and slides her nails against his scalp.

He sits up, kneeling between her thighs, and tugs her upwards. He moves so rapidly and she feels so disoriented it takes her a moment to realise the handcuffs are loose. By the time she attempts to move, he’s got her shirt off and her bra is tossed aside. He cuffs her hands again, behind her, and holds them against the small of her back.

She blinks up at him and he tugs her hair loose, winding his fingers into it and tugging her head back so her chest is thrust towards him. He sucks at her skin, leaving flushed red marks down her neck and across her shoulder.

She feels utterly exposed, now. There was the possibility of movement before, but now her wrists are behind her and her shoulders are back, pushing her breasts out towards him. When he pins her to the bed again her back is forced to arch and the metal of the cuffs digs into her skin.

He eases back and loosens his tie casually, like there is nothing out of the ordinary. She gazes up at him and her blood runs hot and rapid through her veins. He shifts away from her and stands at the end of the bed, taking his time to remove his jacket and hang it across the back of the armchair in the corner. He unbuttons his sleeves at the wrist and loosens the top three buttons at his collar, exposing the top of his undershirt.

She watches him quietly and her nerves are stretched and electric. She feels as though she has entered an alternate reality. That it’s a dream. Lilly Rush and Scotty Valens would not do this. Their partnership is worth too much and there is too much respect and tense admiration to risk losing.

He loosens his belt and his pants, but does nothing more, leaning over her again to brush his fingers across her stomach.

“Don’t move,” he says quietly.

She shivers and nods in silent agreement. Since crossing her threshold he has been in the role of dominant, and she has slipped easily into submissive. She squirms at the thought, embarrassed. She would never have pinned herself as someone who would enjoy being restrained or ordered about, and she wonders if she _is_ enjoying it. She wonders if perhaps it’s just Scotty. She squirms again and gnaws at her lip.

“Don’t move,” he repeats, and his voice is sharper this time. She stops her fidgeting and her stomach flutters with her nervous breathing as he loosens her trousers and tugs them down her legs.

Her underwear is functional and plain, like her bra. She bends her knees, feeling exposed, but he grabs her ankles and pulls her legs straight again, holding them apart and running his eyes over her.

Her mouth is dry and she lets out a small croak. He glances up at her but when it’s obvious she’s not telling him to stop, he turns his attention back to her body.

He runs his fingers up the inside of her left leg, skating over her knee and brushing lightly over her thigh. The touch tickles and she jolts and wriggles. He reaches up and peels her cotton briefs slowly away from her hips before he climbs back onto her bed, settling between her legs. He kisses the inside of her knee and sucks at the soft, pale skin of her thigh.

He is slow and deliberate, and her hands are twisting futilely at the small of her back, pinned between her body and the mattress. She tries to inch her hips towards him but he raises his head and presses his mouth against her stomach. She lets out a sigh of frustration and he grins up at her.

He brushes his thumb against her, over her clit, and she jolts and gasps, her eyes widening. He grins again and slowly slides two fingers up inside her.

“Wet,” he says.

She stammers wordlessly, her hips rolling against him slowly and deliberately.

He grazes his teeth over her shoulder, covering the red marks still present from his earlier attentions. “Knew you’d like it,” he whispers hotly into her ear. He twists his fingers and her breath catches in her throat. She bucks her hips desperately and he pins her down with his weight. She can feel the metal cuffs digging into the skin of her wrists and her back.

He pumps and twists his fingers and she gasps and bucks her hips helplessly, clenching her body around him. He increases the pace and twitches his thumb over her clit again and she hisses her breath through her teeth, turning her head to bury her face against his neck. He grabs her hair in his free hand and forces her head back again, directing her to look up at him.

He grins and flicks her clit again and he watches her eyes widen and feels her body jolt around him. Her breath is hot and wet and close and he kisses her again, moving his tongue into her mouth.

His trousers are loose and open and she can feel the heat of him against her thigh. She squirms deliberately, grinding against him, and hears his breath falter.

He drives his fingers into her again and this time she wails and twists beneath him. He doesn’t stop, this time. He fucks her with his hand until her body is glowing with sweat and heat and her breath is ragged and deep. She bites her lip hard when she comes, forcing back any noise that threatens to spill out into the quiet dim of her bedroom. Her thighs tighten around his hand and she knows that the skin around her wrists is torn and raw.

When her movements slow and stop, he moves to the end of the bed, separating from her, and slips his shirt slowly off his shoulders. He pulls his undershirt over her head and she watches him quietly, liquid and soft. She knows he’s not done yet, and for a moment she’s afraid and she thinks about telling him to let her go. It’s starting to hurt, anyway, and she’s worried about having to explain the marks that are sure to be on her wrists.

He pulls her up into a sitting position and kisses her gently. “Don’t move, Lil.”

She just shakes her head, her hair brushing against her bare skin.

He unlocks the handcuffs and links her wrists, one over the other. He rolls her onto her stomach and she doesn’t fight. She’s still. Quiet. Passive.

He loops his tie around her wrists, covering the marks left behind by the handcuffs. The silken material is soft but strong, and infinitely more comfortable. She breathes slowly and flexes her fingers, testing the bonds slightly as he brushes his fingers over the swell of her ass and down her thighs. There is less movement now than there was with the cuffs, and she feels another delicious tingle race through her as she realises she is completely dependent on him to let her go again.

He drives his fingers up her thighs again, his short, blunt nails against her skin, raking her gently. She shivers again and spreads her thighs a little, still slick and hot from her previous orgasm.

He moves her and positions her so her cheek is pressed against her blankets and her knees are propped beneath her, raising her ass up into the air. She bites her lip and clenches her hands, hoping he’s going to fuck her, because the longer he resists, the more time she has to think about what a bad idea it is.

He slides his fingers into her again and she gives a soft moan and closes her eyes. He fucks her slowly for a moment before he withdraws his hand and runs his fingers up and down her thighs again.

When his palm strikes against her skin, it’s the noise that startles her first. It’s a sharp, loud crack, and then the pain is secondary but hot, and she gasps and tries to roll away from him, but he holds her in place by grabbing her bound wrists.

“Don’t move,” he orders again.

She’s heard him use that voice before, in the box with people who are guilty and overly-confident. The voice has a whole new meaning and undertone here, and she feels her stomach tighten. She’s embarrassed by the how much she’s enjoying this. She wonders how she can ever look him in the eye again.

He spanks her again and she yelps and jerks, trying to straighten her legs.

He shakes her gently, pulling her wrists upwards so she’s forced to wriggle back to her knees. “I said don’t move,” he says softly. “Don’t piss me off, Lil. I can tie you worse and then you won’t move at all. Right?”

She nods, breathing heavily, and closes her eyes. She braces herself for the next strike against her skin, but he runs his fingers over her again and slides a soft touch over her clit.

She relaxes again, sighing softly as he rubs the tip of his finger across her wet flesh.

He strikes again, rapidly, and again, and she squeals. He stops and hushes her.

“You want your neighbours to hear?”

She shakes her head and bites her lip, and he spanks her again, and again. His hand is hard and firm and she can feel heat rising to her skin. She squirms and flinches and soon she’s crying, even though it doesn’t really hurt that much.

She’s seconds away from begging him to stop when he lets her wrists go and slides away from her. She whimpers and slowly sinks into the mattress, her breathing coming in soft little sobs and whimpers. He runs gentle fingers across her hot skin. She can feel her skin glowing hot and she trembles whenever he touches her, ultra-sensitive to the slightest feather-touch.

He slides his fingers inside her again and she’s still helplessly wet. She can hear the grin in his voice as he points this out to her and she just bites her lip and shakes her head again, sniffling softly.

He rolls her over and lies between her thighs, flicking his tongue over her clit.

“You liked being spanked?” he asks. His voice is a soft husk and she can feel his breath against her inner thigh. He runs his tongue against her again and she bucks helplessly.

“No,” she whispers. Her voice cracks.

He chuckles and shakes his head, and he rasps his stubble-roughened chin over her clit.

She bucks again and twitches helplessly. She’s hot and slick and her fingers are flexing and she’s tugging at the tie around her wrists.

“Tell the truth,” he says, and he sucks at her clit so she cries out softly.

“I am!” she insists. Inside her own mind she is screaming at herself to dislike everything he’s doing. She’s seen too much vulnerability and victimisation to like being helpless. She’s been through too much herself to risk someone else hurting her or taking advantage of her. And more than anything, they work together and this is the sort of thing everyone should avoid. This is the sort of thing that always goes wrong and destroys partnerships and friendships and careers.

He flicks his tongue against her clit again and keeps his mouth locked onto her, pressing her thighs apart with his hands.

“Oh, God.” She thrusts her hips up against him. It’s not going to take much before she comes again, but he pulls away after a few seconds and blows gently across her wet skin. She pants and looks up at him as he stands back and strips his trousers and his boxers away.

He strokes himself lazily, still displaying that hot confidence that always permeates the air around him.

She is still, with exception to her rapidly-heaving chest.

“Tell me what you want, Rush,” he says quietly, kneeling between her thighs.

She gazes up at him, hotly uncomfortable and embarrassed about needing to vocalise anything. She gazes up at him, hoping her expression will be enough.

He grabs her nipple and pinches it and she yelps and twists away from him.

“What do you want?” he asks again, pulling her hips back towards him.

He strokes himself again and tilts his head, looking at her with eyes that are bright and dark all at the same time.

She realises that if she doesn’t answer, he’s going to jerk himself off and she’ll be left frustrated for the rest of the night.

“You,” she blurts. “I don’t care! Just do it.”

He chuckles and leans over her, sucking her nipple and tugging gently with his teeth. “What do you want me to do?’ he asks, his breath hot on her skin.

“Fuck me,” she says, and she tries to make it sound like an order, but it’s a gasp of desperation.

He grabs her hips and pulls her close to him and she can feel him close and hot between her legs.

“Now!” she begs. “Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck me!” she orders, and she bucks her hips towards him. He slides into her quickly and smoothly and she arches her back, rolling and squirming against her blankets, which are rumpled and bunched beneath her. He grabs her thighs and lifts her, driving hard and fast.

Her toes curl and she skates back and forth as he quickens his pace. She can hear her own slickness and the heat from being spanked hasn’t entirely left her skin yet. When he presses her knees back and leans over her she shudders, close to coming.

“Not yet,” he orders.

She almost comes at the sound of his voice and she’s not sure how she can hold herself back. She looks up at him desperately. She can see the tendons in his shoulders as he holds himself up above her, her knees trapped against his arms, her heels pressed against the middle of his back.

“Fuck, I can’t,” she pleads. She’s going to come any second and he knows it.

“Not yet!” he orders sharply. He’s driving her into the mattress and their bodies slap and jolt together. She clenches around him and sees a muscle in his jaw twitch.

She comes hard, tightening around him and locking her legs around him. Her cry is long and rough and broken and he comes shortly after her, spilling into her and sinking against her into the mattress. Their breathing is mismatched and ragged and she fights to gain rhythm beneath his weight.

He rolls aside after a moment and she quivers and trembles, sticky and sweaty and exhausted.

“Roll over,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough and quiet; a gentle rasp in the dark.

It takes her three tries to roll onto her stomach. She can feel the evidence of him leaking from between her thighs and she closes her eyes and presses her legs together.

It takes him a long time to release the tie. The knots have all pulled tight in her struggles and his fingers are trembling and weak. When she’s free he kisses the broken skin on her wrists and pulls her back against his chest, breathing in the soft scent of her hair.

“Trust,” he says softly.

She nods sleepily. “I do. I do trust you.”

“I know.” He brushes his lips against the back of her neck. He’s tired, but he won’t stay the night. If he leaves now it will just be sex. If he stays the night, it’s more than that.

He slides away from her and dresses quietly. She is still, half-asleep and curled on her side.

“You okay, Lil?”

“Uh-huh.” She wants to smile at him and reassure him, but she’s too exhausted.

He slides a palm over her breast and she opens her eyes languidly, gazing up at him.

“Sleep tight,” he says. He grins and tightens his tie up around his collar.

She hears the front door open and close and she rests heavily on her mattress, aching and twitching and determined not to over-analyse.

Over-analysing would quite possibly mean expelling any chance of it all happening again. And that’s not what she wants at all.

 xXx


End file.
